Comfort in the Sound
by Witknee
Summary: "When the sun shines again, I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in."- E/N future fic.


Title: There is Comfort in the Sound

Pairing: Emily/ Naomi

Rating: T, that sounds good.

Words: 1000+

Disclaimer: Skins is not mine. No monetary gain for this girl. Title based on Death Cab's "Marching Bands of Manhattan" loosely. Listen, I dare ya.

Author's note: Small piece of fluff b/c I was bored. I plan to expand upon it, not quite a one-shot. Let me know what you think. If people like it, I'll continue.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

She breathes in, quietly, and you can't keep your hand from resting on the naked, moving skin. You watch your hand moving up and down with it for a few moments and then run your fingers across her collarbone, softly. You feel the warmth of her spread across your palm, feel her soft skin against your finger tips.

In the morning's soft glow, you don't fight the soft smile of contentment that spreads across your face. You let it grace your features, you allow the small sigh to leave your mouth.

She doesn't stir. Doesn't bat an eyelid- she always has been a heavy sleeper. Lately even more so.

That thought is enough to cause a full fledged grin to break across your face.

The reminder.

The reason.

Glancing up at her still-closed eyes, you gently pull the twisted sheets away from her body until they fall to the side of the bed and then onto the floor.

You allow your eyes to rake over the full form of her- the beautiful, full form of her- once the sheets are away from her body.

You start at her face- still peaceful and soft from slumber- and down the graceful slope of her neck. As your eyes drift, so does your hand, still caressing softly. A creamy shoulder, partially covered by natural dark brown hair. A full breast. And then...

You linger at the top of her ribs, your full palm coming to rest upon her distended stomach and then your fingers stroke, reverently. You pause, your eyes taking in the swell of her. Eight months pregnant- growing bigger-and more lovely, you say- everyday.

Without thinking, you bring your own body down level with the noticeable bulge and press lingering kisses there, your hand still maintaining the same movement. You curl into the side of her and whisper softly to the child- your child, both of you- forming in her belly and lay your head down, closing your eyes.

You don't realize you've fallen asleep until you wake, hours later, to gentle fingers running through your hair.

You grab the fingers with little thought and tangle them with your own, bringing them to rest against your face. Both of your rings- silver, simple- catch the light as you bring her own to your lips.

She sighs so softly, so joyously.

It's quiet for a few peaceful moments, still. You think she may have gone back to sleep until she says your name, barely a whisper.

"Naomi," she says.

You send out a gentle hum in response, your eyes still lingering on her swollen belly.

"I love you."

You respond in kind, finally inching your way up her body. Her eyes are still slightly puffy from sleep, her hair a bit tangled.

"You're beautiful." The words slip out without thought, without hesitation. Because she just is.

Her face, if possible, becomes even softer. Your lips hover above hers for a few seconds as your hand comes to cup her cheek. You watch her eyes close, her lips part. You lean in, your own eyes closing when suddenly your hand is ripped unceremoniously from her cheek. You open your eyes just in time to see her running toward the bathroom, hand firmly clasped over her mouth.

Retching noises follow soon after.

You sigh, sympathetically, following quickly behind, and grab a hair tie off of the dresser. You find her in front of the toilet, shoulders shaking, clutching her belly.

You kneel beside her as she empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. You scrape the hair out of her face, soothe her sweaty forehead with your palm, and then gather the remaining hair at the base of her neck. You pull it into a ponytail- a messy one- and then run your hand in soothing circles on her back.

She quiets after a moment, only trembling slightly. You say her name softly, hand still running down the length of her spine. She turns to you then, collapsing into your arms, burying her head into your chest.

You hold her, laying kisses on her head, before helping her up to wash her face and clean her teeth.

After you lead her back to the bed, she curls up on her side while you go to the dresser to grab clothes for you both.

You don't even bother to look at what you've grabbed for yourself- a t-shirt and shorts of some kind- but take a few moments to settle on your wife's clothing.

You finally settle on her most comfortable dress and knickers.

When you make your way back over to the bed, her eyelids are already drifting closed once again.

Smiling lazily, you hand her her clothes, helping when the dress gets caught over her midsection. Once dressing is complete, she lays back down, yawning.

You smile again, the sight making your heart swell. You make a move to leave for the kitchen when her small voice calls you back.

She catches you by the back of your neck with her small hands and pulls you in. Your hands fall to either sides of her head, trying desperately to catch your own weight before it tumbles onto her, as she kisses you. It's lazy, exhausted, minty- and makes you moan into her mouth.

She's smiling when you pull away. You stroke her face, nuzzle her nose with yours and lock your eyes with hers.

"Good morning, baby," she whispers.

"Good morning," you smile in return.

End for now. Let me know what you think!

-Wit


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